remember the morning we dug up your gun the worms in the barrel, the hanging sun those first nervous evenings of perfume and gin the lost smell on your breath as i helped you get it in the rush of your lips, the feel of your name the beat in your heart, the devil’s arcade

you said “heroes are needed, so heroes get made” somebody made a bet, somebody paid the cool desert morning and nothing to save just metal and plastic where your body caved the slow games of poker with lieutenant ray in the ward with the blue walls, a sea with no name where you lie adrift with the heroes of the devil’s arcade

you sleep and you dream, your buddies charlie and james and wake with a thick desert dust on your skin

[instrumental]

voice says “don’t worry, i’m here just whisper the word tomorrow in my ear” house on a quiet street, a home for the brave a glorious kingdom with the sun on your face rising from a long night as dark as the grave on a thin chain of next moments and something like faith on a morning to order a breakfast to make a bed draped in sunshine, a body that waits for the touch of your fingers, the end of the day the beat of your heart, the beat of your heart the beat of your heart, the beat of your heart the beat of your heart, the beat of her heart the beat of your heart, the slow burning away of the bitter fires of the devil’s arcade